One Reason
by Hardra61
Summary: Alternate ending to Requiem, kinda, what if M hadn't been taken? my thoughts after seeing the opening two-parter to season 8. R/R!! Pg-13 for darkness and suicide and stuff. Readreadread!!!


  
One Reason  
  
By Hardra6  
[hardra6@yahoo.com]  
  
Disclaimer: 2 words: I wish.  
  
Spoilers: Requiem  
  
Rating: Pg-13 for suicide content stuff  
  
Summary: What if Mulder hadn't been taken at the end of Requiem? Would Scully still have found out?  
My thoughts on an alternative ending to the season, after of course seeing the Season Premiere 2-parter.  
  
Notes: Ok, uh, this is what happens when you take me, a thing of soda and a clock that reads "3:03 AM".  
Just enjoy, peepskles.  
  
  
  
One Reason  
  
  
  
  
I took them one by one.   
  
I knew I could chicken out at any second. I also knew quite well that I was killing myself. I got out of the   
shower, looked in the mirror for a while, opened the cabinet and there it was; an unopened package of   
Benadryl sleeping pills, right next to the extra razor blades and iodine.   
  
I looked at those pills for about an hour before I picked them up. Like a drone, I pulled on a clean tee shirt   
and jeans and poured a tall glass of water. I sat down on the couch and laid the bottle and glass on the table   
directly in front of me.   
  
Why was I doing this? I asked myself.   
  
Because you're a loser, nobody's ever listened to you, nobody ever will listen to you, and life is basically   
the only thing you still have left. And, might I add, Fox, even that is ticking away.  
  
Like a fresh video playing back in my mind, I remember the doctor telling me. I remember how he said it;   
"I'd give you three and a half months, generously. I'm very sorry." In that low, serious and gentle voice. I   
had been shocked, but not in a devastated way. Maybe it was because I'd figured I'd end up dying   
prematurely a long time ago, when I joined the FBI in the first place. Maybe it was because, deep down, I   
knew it would be coming sooner or later.  
  
Maybe it was because I had lost everything else already.   
  
Of course, the next day at work, I didn't say anything. I didn't tell anyone, really, because first of all, who   
would care? and second of all, I didn't need the pity my partner would bestow on me. All that telling her   
would do was make her push herself to find a cure.....try to keep me alive long enough so that she could   
find some way to reverse it....more pity.....  
  
I had done that for her. I had never thought that maybe she didn't want to live. Because why wouldn't she?   
What has she lost, exactly? She may have lost her sister, but she understands that. She knows how and why   
and when and, vaguely, who. She still has family and friends, and credibility. I don't. I don't need rescuing,   
because I have nothing to live for.   
  
I could live for her.   
  
But for her, it would be better if I died.   
  
So I didn't say. We went about as usual. I did my best to put the thought behind me; I put all of my strength   
into solving those cases, even though I knew it would be for nothing. I was dying. A year from now, the X-  
files will have been long closed and promptly forgotten.   
  
Forever.  
  
I thought, how could they be doing this? They gave me this, whatever this is. So now I die? Was that the   
plan the whole time? Play games for years and years and then Mulder dies, cue laughs?   
  
"If I quit now, they win," I'd said. It's not even worth the effort to go back and look through the memories   
of when I said that. To die is to Quit. Right?   
  
They kill me, they win?  
  
I popped the lid off the bottle of pills.  
  
I kill me......I win.  
  
I wondered whether I needed to leave a note for her or not. "Sorry I didn't tell you, but you see I've kinda   
been dying for the past year"? No.  
  
I also wondered if using my gun wouldn't be easier. I mean, pop, I'm out of the picture. Frankly, I don't   
have the guts to pull the trigger into my own face. Sorry. The pills were easier.  
  
I swallowed the first pill. One can't hurt you.  
  
Stop: reasons why not? I had to be completely sure. I imagined what life would be like after my death. The   
boys wouldn't be all that happy. I can't imagine anyone else besides my partner who would feel remorse.   
Besides that, the gravestone already has my name on it, so nobody would have to worry about paying for   
that.   
  
I swallowed the second pill. Two can't hurt you.  
  
I imagine she would miss me. I knew in my head that she would be safe once I was gone, but in my heart I   
was warmed by the thought. I love her. I do. I think I always have.   
  
I swallowed the third pill. Three can't hurt you.  
  
On number twelve, I started feeling a little tired. At first I was afraid. I kept looking at the phone, knowing   
that I could press three buttons and the rescue squad would be here before I blacked out. But I didn't dial.   
  
Nothing to live for, Fox.  
  
More than a little drowsy on number seventeen, I wondered how many that I needed to take. Knowing that   
if I took too few, I would be locked up in rehab forever and my chances of trying this again would be slim.   
Better safe than sorry, I figured, then giggled at the idea that I was being safe.  
  
I seriously doubted that I needed twenty pills, but I kept going anyway. On twenty five I was nearly out of   
water, so I scooped up the last few Benadryls and washed them down, too.   
  
Finally staring at an empty bottle, I shakily put the glass down and leaned back. The phone was just feet   
away; part of me was screaming to pick it up. Pick it up fast. Before it's too late.   
  
But my head and heart told me to stay. I slowly and numbly laid back on the couch, resting my head. I   
wasn't sure whether to smile or frown or what, but before I knew it tears were running from my eye to the   
leather of the couch, and more tears were rolling over the bridge of my nose.   
  
I shifted slightly and finally closed my eyes.   
  
Things were getting really fuzzy. I could hardly think straight. Whatever pointless thoughts I was running   
through my head became jumbled and obsolete, and finally it all seemed to end.   
  
  
I wish I could say my last thoughts were of her.  
  
I really do wish.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Light.   
  
Numb.   
  
Floating.  
  
Light.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Numb.  
  
Motionless.  
  
Heavy.  
  
Tired.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The next time it was different. Suddenly I felt.   
  
I felt my arms. My legs. They were dead weight. They were numb and useless.   
  
I felt my chest rising and falling, over and over again, constantly.  
  
I did not think. I could not use my brain imagining where I was. I only felt.   
  
I felt something beating in my ears. My heart. Beating. Constant. Rythmatic.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I started thinking later. I did not know how much later. The first thing I managed to think was I'm   
alive. and I was. I was alive. I could feel my heart beat, and I could feel myself breathing. Those were   
signs of life. I still could not move.   
  
I thought many things. I thought I took the whole bottle.....did I take the whole bottle? Or was that just a   
dream? I remember thinking about something like how many pills I would have to take. Surely a whole   
bottle would be enough?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After a while I started feeling more. I could feel my muscles tighten when I wanted to move. Of course, I   
couldn't. my body was too heavy to move. I wondered how I ever managed to move it.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Later.....I opened my eyes.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She was there, sleeping. Hospital. I'd thought about that. Of course hospital.   
  
She looked mussed up, her hair tangled and her face puffy, her head leaned back and her mouth open a   
little. She'd been here a while. I'd thought of that, too. I knew she wouldn't leave my side.   
  
Dark again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The next time I woke up I was alone. I blinked at the ceiling, not bothering to count the dots....I'd done it   
before and there were circa 3,000 dots on each panel, so it was easy multiplication. Nothing to waste my   
time on. Where was she? Off somewhere, getting coffee or something. Ok.  
  
I tried to open my mouth and was surprised when it obliged. I made no noise, however, and finally closed it   
again, focusing on breathing.   
  
I heard the door open and a short gasp, then the door closing. A minute later it opened again and I felt   
something on my hand. I saw her again. I saw her hair.   
  
"Mulder....?" she whispered.   
  
I couldn't respond. But I swallowed and tried to nod a little.   
  
"I'm here, Mulder. I have been and I will be."  
  
I nodded a little more.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I slept a lot; sometimes I had ice chips. I was beginning to be able to move a little more, and I knew that   
speaking wasn't far off. One day I woke up, and she was there, crying.  
  
"Scully." I said hoarsely, in broken tones. She sniffed and looked up. I reached out a hand; she had to know   
I was going to be okay. I guess.   
  
So I messed up. There goes my big chance. Deal with the now.  
  
"I'm okay." She said.   
  
"okay," I echoed, watching her carefully. She sniffed loudly and wiped some tears off of her cheek, then   
looked at me with an expression that to today I have not been able to describe. "Sorry," I said slowly,   
although by then I was saying most things slowly.  
  
To my surprise she burst into tears, clutching at my hand like it was a lifeline. I pulled her closer towards   
me, and she threw herself into me, sobbing hysterically. Very uncharacteristic for her. I tried to hold her   
comfortingly, but I had limitations on my movement.   
  
Through her sobs she started talking, hardly able to control her own voice. Never in my life have I seen her   
so emotional. Even when she breaks, which she never does, she does not do this.   
  
"M-Mulder ho-ow could you, the th-uh, wer-rrnt ans-sweri-ing your ph-phone so I came o-over but too   
late, y-you were as-sleep already so I ca-aa-alled 911 but I didn-uhn-nt think they would ma-ake it on t-t-  
time, I did evere-ey t-thing I knew to help but y-you took all of them, I was so sc-sc-ared I didn't know if y-  
ou would live." She was shaking, burying her face into my chest so that I could feel each one of her tears as   
they seeped through. "M-Mulder you c-can't die, you can't because I didn-n-n-t tell you yet I was kind of   
wor-ried about h-how I was going to t-tell you because I didn-n't know if you would be ha-ah-py or if you   
were goingna ha-ate me or wha-at so I didn't say or an-ne-thin-ng, but M-ulder you can-t die on-n me not   
now because M-mulder I'm gon-nn-na have a b-baby M-Mulder I'm gonna have a bab-by and you can-n't   
die because M-Mulder It's y-yours and I l-l-love you and it's y-yours and m-mine it's ours and you can't   
die......."   
  
As she stopped speaking she broke into a whole new burst of tears, crying loud without caring who heard.   
But all I heard was her.   
  
Baby.   
  
Mulder, it's yours.   
  
I love you.   
  
You can't die.   
  
I sighed and leaned back into my sitting-positioned bed, hugging her the best I could.   
  
God, Scully, why didn't you say.   
  
Because I love you too.   
  
And even if I can hurt you to keep you safe, I can't do the same to an innocent child.  
  
My innocent child.   
  
My own child.   
  
Maybe you're right, Scully. Maybe I do need help.   
  
Please.....help me find a cure.....please......?  
  
This child must have a father. And I'm not going to deny it that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The End  
11/30/00  
Hardra6  



End file.
